


Rise with me forever

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Made For Each Other, Marius Is Literally A Seabird, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The end of the world - again - and Michael hadn't shown up. Chuck's dead anyway, though, so it doesn't really matter. So when he shows up for the first time in ten years, still asking Dean to be his vessel, there's no way Dean will say yes.
Relationships: Michael & Dean Winchester, Michael/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Rise with me forever

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is canon-adjacent. I don't watch the show anymore and it's a lot to catch up on to figure out exactly how it works, so I've decided that after Michael and Adam escaped they just played tennis, and the story worked out anyway.
> 
> This work is a gift for Darkness, who commented over on my Michael/Lucifer story. I don't write a lot of fanfic in general, but with that awful show ending and what Darkness said I wanted to give a little offering to the Michael/Dean shippers, because I've always had feelings about the M.F.E.O. concept and we're not that far apart (and Michael/Lucifer shippers also got screwed over). I hope you enjoy. Feedback always very welcome <3

He was used to the silence by now, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Five months had passed since the world had nearly ended – again. Five months spent avoiding Sam’s eyes, of stiff conversations and burned coffee, far from where either of them had ever known happiness in a quiet, lonely house on the edge of the Nevada desert.

Sam sometimes drove into the city. Dean had lost his taste for that. He’d gone with him, once or twice when they’d first arrived. He’d never felt older than he had in a city glittering under neon lights. People his own age seemed younger, decades, _centuries_ younger than he did. Even Sam.

He drank one whisky a night, to help him sleep. Sometimes he’d drink it with Sam in silence. Often he took it to the empty barn outside, sitting on an overturned bucket, grateful that the silence there wouldn’t be broken.

He bent his head down, already feeling his head swim after a few sips. He’d lost a lot in the last few years. His ability to put drinks away wasn’t missed, really, but it was recent.

He pretended not to hear the footsteps approaching. Maybe Sam would see he didn’t want to talk and leave.

“Dean.”

That was his little brother’s voice, yes, but not the one he’d been expecting. He looked up slowly, hoping he’d misheard it. Hoping he was just being haunted by someone else he hadn’t been able to save.

But no. Adam was standing at the edge of the barn entrance – except it wasn’t Adam, not really. He was almost glowing from some inner fire, his skin glittering with something. Each time Dean tried to focus on what was making him look that way it would disappear, leaving Adam both vibrating and serenely still.

“Michael,” Dean whispered. And then, “Adam, I’m so sorry.”

Adam’s hand came up in a gesture that echoed old Byzantine icons – divine mercy, Dean thought with a bitter edge.

“Adam’s fine,” and the voice was just like he remembered, smooth and low, with some inner frequency that touched at Dean’s core. “He’s sleeping right now. It’s just you and me.”

“Let me speak to him,” Dean said, standing up tiredly.

Michael just shook his head. “He’s sleeping,” he repeated. “He needs… a lot of sleep. I won’t wake him.” He held out a hand, moving forward. Dean tried not to recoil from the weighted presence of Heaven’s firstborn, who seemed to bend light around his form. “Look.”

Dean looked. He could see the inner fire better this way. And suddenly the fire stopped, and he could see what was causing it as a wound, like the ones that had torn Nick apart all those years ago, appeared. Michael let it fester, and it grew slowly until, with a blink of the eye, the skin smoothed over again.

“What are you doing to him?” Dean whispered. Adam, trapped inside, “ _sleeping_ ”, or whatever that meant, while his flesh was taking wounds rapidly.

“It’s punishment. For me, not him.” Michael turned his hand around, letting Dean see the wounds grow and spread before they vanished again. “Over one thousand years in the worst place ever created. And still, I can make wounds He gives me vanish as soon as they appear.” He lowered his hand, looking up at Dean. Dean couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “Lucifer let them fester. Adam isn’t my true vessel – this is His way of reminding me.”

“ _He_ is dead,” Dean pointed out. Something like sadness touched Michael’s face, though it was gone before he could be sure.

“I know. This is just a built-in feature. Once you say yes –”

“No,” Dean said quickly, shaking his head. “No. No fucking –”

“Dean,” and the voice was smooth, solemn, _heavy_ , and Dean had to hold the chair with a shaking hand before sinking into it, unable to stand in his presence for too long. Michael crouched down before him, looking up at him. “You will say yes. I will only have to ask once.”

Dean gave a small laugh of disbelief. “I can’t believe you,” he said simply. “You escape Hell and just don’t show up for the fight – where _were_ you?”

Michael shrugged, face blank. “California. We played a lot of tennis.”

“’We?’ Who is ‘we?’”

He blinked a few times. “Adam and I,” he said, as though that explained things. “We went to a lot of restaurants, too.”

Dean could have punched him. He decided to pretend Michael hadn’t said that. “So now you come here, wearing my _brother_ , and want me to say yes?”

“You will,” Michael said, and then he said the next part without his vessel – a lowly lyrical voice he felt deep in his bones. “It’s the only end that makes sense.”

Dean shook his head again, feeling more than a little dizzy. Michael held up a hand – and that sign he made again, two fingers upright, the others lowered – and pressed it to his forehead. It was a question, he knew. Somewhere, somehow, he knew exactly what Michael was asking. He didn’t know if he should see whatever he wanted to show Dean. But he nodded anyway.

His eyes snapped shut of their own accord as Michael showed him what he couldn’t say. This was similar to his true voice, Dean supposed. He saw meadows covered with small angels, and two taller but still young angels nearby (and he _felt_ that it was Gabriel and Raphael, with all of Michael’s fondness pushing towards his younger brothers). A taller angel was just behind him, with golden hair and a smiling face. Dean couldn’t recognise him at all.

And then sadness clouded the vision, spreading across like mist before the image wavered and dissolved. All of those angels were dead.

His mind was lingering on the angel with golden hair, wondering who it was.

 _Lucifer_ , Michael’s voice said with more than a little urgency. Dean would have jumped if his limbs weren’t so heavy. _My little brother died a long time ago._

Dean wasn’t sure about that. The golden-haired angel wavered back into view. A pain too big for him to grasp was clouding the edges, and he understood.

Then he saw himself in the mirror, aged. He saw Sam aged, lines on his face, his brown hair turned grey. He saw both of them, still sitting in uncomfortable silences. He saw himself driving the same car, driving back to the same house, listening to the same music. And just as the dread creeping in his stomach was getting too much to bear, that image wavered away too.

 _My little brother stopped being little long ago_ , he thought, mostly to himself. He could feel Michael’s silent agreement.

Then he saw Adam, shoulders slumped and face buried in a pillow as he slept deeply, as deeply as only humans could. He watched him age, and get a job, and have a child. All in a second he saw a happy life for Adam. And then he saw another life for Sam. A wife. A house. A dog. A normal, happy life that barely featured Dean at all, but was nonetheless happy for it.

 _Where am I?_ he asked silently of Michael. He felt a silent hush about him, an arm across his shoulder.

 _Watch_ , came Michael’s reply, and he did.

He saw himself. It both was himself and wasn’t himself. There was something in the way he was holding himself, standing. The way his eyes were closed, his face blank and serene. He looked younger. He remembered the image before – of growing old with Sam – and would have shivered if not for the warm, golden light bathing him whole.

 _Dean_ , Michael said, and Dean nodded without moving his head. He knew Michael could understand him.

 _This is what it could be like_ , and the golden light grew brighter, warmer. The image melted away, but the light stayed, bathing every inch of him. It was like a weightless warmth on his chest, in his lungs, his heart. He could feel his hair, thick and soft on the top of his head – feel his eyes glisten, his lips and cheeks rush with warmth.

He saw something again. This time it wasn’t Michael, but his own memories. Michael was with him in his mind, seeing it, watching with respectful silence. It was the end of a warm autumn day, the sky golden with the last of the sun. He was small, no older than twelve, stood alone at the edge of a wheat field. The wind whistled through the swaying golden wheat, wrapping around him like a promise.

 _Yes_ , Michael said, answering the question he was asking without words. _That was me._

The light got brighter. Dean opened his eyes, and sure enough, Adam’s eyes were half-closed, light pouring off his skin like water. His eyes opened fully, fixing on Dean’s, and it didn’t hurt to look back with the same intensity.

 _The worst place ever built_ , he said, and reached to cup Dean’s cheeks in his hands. _One thousand years. I endured it all. Kept myself and Adam safe. Kept you and Sam safe, where I could. All so I can give you the ending you deserve._

Dean couldn’t answer.

 _You don’t have to grow old_ , Michael said, the voice soft in his ears. _You don’t have to leave Earth. You can wander it, forever, with company. Without worrying about danger. Without fear, entirely. Forever._ His eyes were shining, the light still radiating off him.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there like that, Michael kneeling in front of him, making the whole barn glow. But when Michael’s voice said his name, he knew it was another question.

 _Yes_ , he said, and felt Michael’s eternal, earth-shattering joy, and then sunlight filled him to the bone. Every inch of his skin, every muscle and bone were filled. Every small break in him was glowing with Michael’s light.

Once the light subsided he could see that Adam had gone. Michael quelled his worry before it began, showing him again the image of Adam sleeping soundly in a hotel. The promise he had felt in the wind as a child wrapped around him again, and he nodded.

Each footstep out of the barn was weighted and weightless at the same time. He felt taller, and when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the house’s dark window, he looked younger, too. He held up his hand. He could almost see Michael’s triumphant light glowing beneath his skin. But Lucifer had been right in what he’d said to Sam all those years ago. Michael fitted perfectly in his skin. So perfectly that he wasn’t sure whether the path he was taking to the Impala was directed by him or Michael. Even more incredibly, he felt so perfect it didn’t seem to matter.

He stopped once he arrived at the driver’s side.

 _The keys are in our pocket_ , Michael informed him politely. So it was Dean leading them to the car.

He looked back at the house, where Sam was fast asleep, and he knew (maybe this was Michael showing him again, he couldn’t tell anymore) that Sam wouldn’t be worried. Sam would know he was safe. And Sam would be safe, too.

 _Thank you_ , he said, and felt Michael’s older-brother-pride swell immensely. That went for both of them, he knew. Michael would take care of the only two brothers of theirs left.

And he wouldn’t have to worry about it again.

He sat in the car, and no one came running out the house when he slammed the door.

 _You decide the music_ , he said to Michael, turning the key. They peeled out onto the road together, and as they turned onto the empty main road, leaving sand and dust in their wake, Dean smiled.


End file.
